


Where he belongs

by CockAsInTheBird



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy survived, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24293467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CockAsInTheBird/pseuds/CockAsInTheBird
Summary: Billy still hears the voices in his head, clawing at his soul, fraying his nerves.Sure he sees a doctor several times a month for recover, and a psychologist to help alleviate some of his PTSD and prescribe him pills, but when will he be able to tell that it's helping any at all?The mindflayer will always be a part of him.But at least he got Steve with him, in bed.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	Where he belongs

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on Tumblr asked for this after I wrote a short lil thing of angst and Billy, and here we are, 5½ pages later!

It's dead silent. As the grave.

The only light here a slight blue where the moon peeks in from drawn curtains, reaching across the floor and onto the bed. Gently caressing where Steve's feet lie under the blanket.

Billy sits with his knees under his chin, at the foot end of the bed, watching the calm rise of Steve's chest, his hair a huge mess, lips spread slightly as he sleeps.

Another night of no rest, of his head full of voices. It's not really a voice in the way you'd expect, it's more like a... feeling. Like a foggy residue from... _before_.

Sharp teeth biting, tendrils everywhere, stealing away all his air, piercing through his chest.

It all stings in his eyes, and forms an overwhelmingly uncomfortable knot in his throat, just short of it being painful.

And when he thinks he sees something moving in the obscured corners, a sound all too close to a sob escapes his quivering lips.

He knows it's fake, _just hallucinations_ , the lack of light playing tricks on his exhausted mind.

But the darkness of his nightmares seep all too easily into the shadows surrounding him at every waking moment.

"St-Steve-" voice like broken glass, he stops in shock of how _pathetic_ he sounds now. And he wouldn't have believed it was him that spoke, if not for the grinding pain in his throat.

He hides his face in his knees, believing that if he doesn't see whatever is lurking here, it'll go away. Squeezes his eyes shut till he sees white stars behind his lids.

Tries to call out for his boyfriend again, “Steve...” and again, “ _Steve..._ ” and seven more times after that, but the words are barely even there; they're more similar to whimpers; scared and _ashamed_ of what a little _wimp_ he's become.

Oh how far he's fallen from grace, from Keg King and the talk of the town, to... _this_.

Mane gone. Baggy eyes. Skin paler. _Scars everywhere_.

He can't even remember when he last took his shirt off for longer than it takes to get the next one on. How long has it been since he's felt Steve's hands on his skin? How long since he last felt the sensation of body heat...

Must be nearing half a year by now. He doesn't keep up with time or space anymore, just goes to the doctors and psychologists when Steve says it's time.

And what would become of Billy without Steve.

Who else would care for him? Not a soul. He couldn't ask that of Max. Never had to ask that of Steve. Because Steve fucking Harrington is an angel, and Billy knew that from the first time they locked eyes in the parking lot.

Knew it just the same when he woke up at Hawkins Lab, all stitched together and weak, and saw that Steve was curled up on a chair, asleep and undoubtedly uncomfortable.

It was the first time he cried from happiness in all of his life.

His heart aches. Beating against his ribs as if he's running and struggling all over again, hanging on for dear life. And through that rabid movement, loneliness cuts through, slicing like a white hot knife.

Eyes still shut tight and pressed against his knees where the sweatpants absorbs his tears, he reaches out into the void.

Hand feels its way across the bed covers, inching forth in blindness till it finds purchase; Steve's foot. Every movement trembling, he continues till he can wrap his fingers around an ankle, and squeezes.

But there's no reaction.

Clenches his hand tighter.

Hears Steve mumble something best described as “Mmhm.”

So _disgustingly desperate and needy_ , Billy tightens his grip and shakes Steve's leg.

“W-what?” He slowly wakes up and tries to pull his leg away, but the hand there clings with an iron-like tenacity. “Billy?”

And as if he suddenly remembers something important, Steve shoots upright. He has to squint to see where his boyfriend sits just close enough to reach, balled up and hiding his face.

Billy lets go of the ankle and rushes his hand back.

“Billy? Billy! Are you ok?!” Steve's quickly up on his knees, a good distance between them now. A safe distance.

He shakes his head. The pressure in his throat _unbearable_ , and he sobs.

“It's ok- everything's fine,” Steve's voice a mess of panic and sleep as he speaks quickly. “I'm right here with you, just- just... breathe.”

His shoulders quake with every lurching inhale, and he covers his head with his arms, hiding deeper inside himself.

“What can I do to help?” he asks with forced calmness, for there's no helping anyone if they're both freaking out. “I'm here for you, whatever you need.”

Ever so slowly, a weak and uncertain hand extends, as Billy reaches out. His stomach is churning and sweat cold down his back, _but he's trying_.

And Steve knows that, even the limited light here, he sees how Billy is _trying_ to connect with him. “I'm- I'm gonna take your hand, ok?” he asks gently.

But his heart beats wild just as well, because he can't remember the last time Billy was the one to initiate contact this way, and in bed of all places. The trust he's showing here enough to warm Steve to the core.

So he reaches out too, meets Billy's fingertips with his own, and when Billy doesn't pull back after the initial twitch that always comes forth, Steve continues. With great caution and care, he runs his fingers along the other's, slowly moving to the back of his hand and grazes his wrist.

“I'm going to move closer to you now, and just say stop when it's too much, yeah?”

And he can just sense the way Billy nods, hand still outstretched but unmoving.

The bed creaks quietly as Steve moves closer on his knees, attentive of where Billy makes the bed dip, as to not accidentally touch and startle him.

“You're doing so great, baby, _I'm so proud of you_ ,” he coos and pauses as close to Billy as he dares.

Steve's every word and gentle motion brings insurmountable joy to Billy's frail heart, yet it still takes fighting every instinct not to run away; feels his biceps twitch with flight response. But the way Steve's soft and tender and _loving_ fingers rub small circles on his wrist just breaks him; tears flow faster till they drip from his chin.

“I'm going to bring your hand to my cheek, is that ok?”

Billy nods quickly.

And Steve sits completely still, save for where his fingers gingerly wrap around Billy's wrist with barely a notion of tension, and guides it up to his left cheek. Notices how the hand stops shaking as it presses against the side of his face. Instinctively, he leans into the touch and can't help but smile sweetly.

Billy moves his thumb; caresses the smooth cheek and focuses all he can on the moles.

“Oh Billy...” Steve hums low. “I love you.”

And he sobs louder, every breath a cry now as he's reminded of that. _Of love_. Affection in such a tender and pleasant way that he never got used to _before_.

“It's ok to cry,” Steve whispers into the hand, “you deserve a break from everything.”

When in the blink of an eye there's a hand on his other cheek, and Steve stares wide eyed at the faint shape of Billy, head still low. Feels every tremor of every breath that he takes travel up his arms and vibrating into his head. Steve doesn't have the power to fight the one solitary tear that trickles down.

But he stays still. The hand he's got on Billy's left wrist remains the only place where he's touching. Scared in a slight way that if he moves it'll all fall apart, and he's patient enough for the sake of Billy's fragile attempt.

“Billy,” voice as delicate as a feather, “can I touch you more?”

“N-no...” Billy whines as if he's in pain, but nothing hurts more than love and the self-doubt that comes along with it.

“That's ok,” Steve reassures him. “I'll stay like this with you for as long as you need. I can call in sick tomorrow, if you need me. Nothing matters more in my life than _you_.”

And Billy wants to tell him the same; wants to express just how dear Steve is to him, how he means everything, how he's the only good thing in his life that's left, and how he wants him to stay with him forever.

But such words simply don't exist in any language. The best he can do is _show him_ , even if it is just...

He holds on to Steve's face. Moves his legs away, head still low and dodging those dark brown eyes, as he gets up on his knees. He's still a shivering mess, but he crawls closer, breath hitching and face wet with constant tears, _but he crawls closer_. Voices and thoughts an indefinite amount, screaming in his head so vigorously, that all he can do is attempt to ignore it

Steve has to spread his legs as _Billy crawls closer._ The hands that clings to his face slips behind, into his soft, unruly hair and buries his fingers there.

Slowly, but surely, Billy doesn't stop inching closer till he's met with Steve's chest, where he curls up. He's wearing one of Billy's band tees, because they've both always shared an odd pride in that gesture of _closeness_.

Steve, wearing any of Billy's clothes, just a size too big due to the differing in muscle mass. And he remains unmoving.

Billy rests his forehead in the crook of Steve's neck, choking back cries and scrunching his entire face together in hopes to just _stop everything_.

“Fuck, Steve...” he whimpers, voice cracking and high pitched.

“I'm right here for you, Billy.”

“It just- it _hurts_.”

“What hurts?” The concern in Steve's voice so palpable and near.

“ _Everything_.”

“I know, baby, I know.” It pains Steve as well to see the love of his life like this – to know that he can't take it away from him, that he can't share the burden the way he wants to. All he can do is just be present, and it _hurts_. “You need to breathe, Billy, ok? If you can, put your hand on my chest, yeah?”

Billy sniffs hard and swallows. “Y-yeah.” And he moves his right hand down. It takes a while, full of short movements and plenty of pauses on the way, so hesitant and doubtful.

He splays his hand flat on top of the AC/DC logo, feels the heat and beat from within. Steve used to sleep naked whenever he had the chance, but after Billy's... _accident_ , he started sleeping in a shirt as well, to hopefully show his boyfriend that they're in this together; an attempted sign at solidarity when there's not much else to do.

“Good,” Steve smiles again. “Now exhale completely, and breathe with me, yeah?”

And Billy nods slightly before exhaling.

“That's it, and now-” He takes a deep breath. “-In through your nose, and-” Exhales. “-out through your mouth.”

Billy follows the instructions perfectly, inhales deep through his nose, and out with a shudder. He pays attention only to the rise and fall of Steve's chest. Every breath slows down his heart, puts a brick in the wall that keeps the voices away. He can still hear them, barking orders, telling him to...

 _Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale._ Their breathing syncs up perfectly.

“You feelin' any better?” Steve whispers.

“A little...” Billy murmurs. Tears still fall, but he's back to breathing somewhat calmly. “Can you... can you touch me some more?”

And Steve smiles big. “Of course, baby. How do you want me to touch you?”

“I-I-I...” He furrows his brow in _anger_ at how he stutters, but rather than fight like he used to, it just makes him want to cry more. His whole life has been flipped upside down. “Can you... rub my back? Please.”

“Anything for you.”

Carefully so, Steve moves both his hands to the back of the white tee. Billy's almost stopped shaking, but every now and again there's still a hitch in his breath.

“Mmm...” he trills; the first pleased noise from him all night.

Steve runs his hands up and down, counts every ridge of the spine, swirls his fingers around whenever he reaches the small of his back, then glides back up to massage a bit at the shoulder blades, and all over again. He would guess that he's enjoying it every bit as much as Billy, if not more perhaps. This is the most intimate they've been since before everything happened, and it is far better than anything he could ever have hoped for.

Arms wrapped around Billy, feeling his peaceful breathing tickle against his neck, hearts beating in tandem, he can't help the overly satisfied little sigh.

“I love you, Billy.”

“You've already said that,” Billy huffs out, maybe with a hint of a smile?

“Doesn't change anything, no matter how many times I say it, it's true every time.”

“I... I love you, too, Stevie...”

And Steve hums happily. “This all good?”

“Actually, can we...” he pauses as if to reconsider whatever it is he wants to say, and although he frets about it being dangerous territory, he continues, “can we lie down?”

The caressing of hands falter for a moment, as Steve takes in those words. “Are you sure you're ready? We don't have to go any further than this- I don't want you to feel pressured into anything,” there's a clear hopefulness to his tone, but Billy understands that Steve means those words.

Steve would probably agree to going celibate for years if that would make Billy feel better. And he smiles slightly at that.

“Yeah _princess_ , just lie down and I'll... I'll figure out the rest.” He lifts up his head to try and catch Steve's gaze, but it's really fucking dark.

But he feels his breath tickle across his heated lips. Feels a certain pull to meet the source, but he knows- _he fucking knows_ that that's all too soon. They've been sharing careful kisses and light pecks most every day, but not in here – in the bedroom. It's too... dangerous.

“Okay then...” Steve smiles and slowly moves away. “I'm just gonna...”

He moves his hands from a warm back to the cool mattress, pats around till he finds where he threw the covers, and crawls backwards, every movement perfectly calculated to be delicate and precise. He slips his legs underneath the blue duvet and lies down with his head on his pillow again. “There.”

“Fuck, okay, uhm...” Billy's mind all too close to doubting, and the longer he hesitates the worse it gets. He already misses Steve's touch.

“We don't have to-”

“Shh, don't, just...” He reaches down and finds Steve's left arm. Places it against the bed and, gradually, lays down till his face rests on the bicep, lying lower than Steve and facing his chest.

Billy waits. Waits for the panic to set in, for his skin to squirm as if he's filled with jittery worms, or for his stomach to drop. But only finds himself breathing calmly, despite how his heart is galloping.

“Can I... hold you?” Steve's so excited and happy, his heart thriving off of this moment, jumping and dancing on the inside as if this is their first time lying in bed together. And in a way it is... most things feels like it's their first time, at least he cherishes every waking moment together as if it was.

“Yes...” Billy's voice made up mostly of hesitation now, but he knows Steve will stop immediately. “Please...”

While still respecting the space that Billy has put between their bodies; only points of connection are where he rests his head on Steve's arm, and the slight nudging of knees, he brings both arms around Billy. Hands on his back again to stroke him through the shirt, drawing out little love notes and hearts in the fabric there, slightly damp from the panic attack.

“That's... really nice...” Billy breathes. Perhaps he's finally ready to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing anything that isn't lemons is kinda hard, huh??
> 
> Hope you all find your Steve fucking Harrington some day <3


End file.
